Night Where

Sense of Life Objectivists

SOLO has moved onwards and upwards to SOLOPASSION.COM
This page is part of the archive of the old site.

Night Where
by John Paul Sherman

Once,
Through a plum sleep,
A laughing lyre
Strummed my tears, and my eyes awoke
To the spang of a dancer dressed in fire,
And the hust of a dancer dressed in smoke!

Arch-flame,
Crown-shadow,
          they seized my hands
And spun my surprise
--a breath-left-behind trip!--
Through lava-rived vales
          and harsh licorice lands,
Sensuous winds like a gasp-rhythmed whip
That bloodied my conscious skin,
Cruelly caressed,
Flayed me aware of the dancer to come:

Out of an orchid, a dancer dressed
      in the perfumed pulse
          of a midnight drum...

One, hush-garbed in the crush of leaves...

Another, robed in the thrash of salt sea...

A fourth,
     rough-stockinged,
          a sigh of sheaves
That danced too near...

                                --My hands broke free,
Stripping away the thin silk of alarms
As I tasted the full bite of passionate dew...

...Collapsing,
Recapturing sleep in the arms
Of the dancer dressed in You.

Discuss this Article (4 messages)